Sunday is Father's Day. I don't think I've ever written a tribute to my Dad. So this year, I will do my best to honor him.
As a boy growing up in a variety of places, I often wondered how my Dad held our family together. We weren't a family rich in material possessions, but we were a family rich in love and we always stood together in both good time and bad. What held our family together was the unmistakable impact that my father had on each one of us. Now that I am grown and a father myself, I’m confident that it was my Dad’s consistent faith in Christ and his strong belief in the power of prayer. His whole adult life focused on Jesus Christ and his family. He believed in God first and family second. Thirty-four years after his death, I can still envision him on his knees in prayer. It was a powerful lesson for all of us.
He surely asked God for wisdom, for all three of us boys would continuously call on him for advice. We all trusted that what he told us would be right. I can’t remember a time when his counsel steered me in the wrong direction.
Dad grew up in Depression days—a valid member of the Greatest Generation. He was a member of the US Army during WWII. Although he never served overseas, his management skills were quckly recognized. He was an excellent marksman and was assigned as a prison guard for the duration of his tour of duty. After he was discharged, he continued to provide for Mom, my brother and his cancer-ridden mother. He managed to do all of that on what was surely a minimum wage income.
The Army identified his I.Q. as borderline genius; however, he never had the opportunity for a formal education. He was a self-taught musician and guitarist. He taught himself music theory and became an accomplished composer. He was also a self-taught mathematician who never received training in algebra, geometry, trigonometry, calculus, or statistics and yet he mastered those disciplines because, it just made sense to him. His English skills were impeccable. If we misused any part of speech, he would correct us immediately. He was known to say, “When people suspect you’re ignorant, why open your mouth and remove all doubt?” I still use that one today.
His greatest and most profitable accomplishment was his knowledge of Scripture. Dad was an authentic theologian. He was a conservative who believed the Bible was not only inerrent but was his authority for life. Dad's teaching skills were legendary. I still meet people who will say, “Your Dad taught me the Bible and led me to Christ.”
His work ethic was amazing. I’m pretty sure that he worked really hard six days a week—every week, for most of his life. He was a salesman who earned a living by commission. He would spend days and days and days making cold calls. Because of his tenacity, he would often be recognized as top salesman of the month. In my keepsakes, I have several dozen certificates citing his sales skills. In today’s expectation of entitlement, few people have that kind of ethic.
My favorite memory of Dad was the way he taught me to memorize Bible verses. He was an early riser who went to bed by 10:00 PM. When I was little boy, he would say, “I’m going to hit the sack. C’mon Tommy and I’ll teach you a new song.” Once in bed, he would sing the words of a song and we would then sing them together. Or, he would teach me a Bible verse until I could recite it back to him. As I grew older, I would sing in a variety of venues and Dad would always accompany me on his guitar. At 13, when I took up the guitar, it was Dad who taught me to play.
He was a no-nonsense kind of man. One of his favorite sayings was “face the facts.” He was not a pessimist, instead, a realist. He was also a problem solver. I don’t think I ever heard him say, “I don’t know.” And I really do think he knew…well, everything.
His death came much too soon; he was only 62. His last day of life was Thanksgiving 1978. Not to sound spooky, but I had a premonition that day—and I think he did too. Strokes strike so quickly; we had no warning. I did my best to give him CPR but it was not enough; and so he died that day. The next few weeks were so surreal. Mom decided to leave Phoenix and go to live with brother and his family. With her furniture packed, she left the day after Christmas assigning to me the responsibility to secure the house before I left. I remember standing in the den, with tears in my eyes, thinking that everything was gone and I would never go home again. If I close my eyes and try really hard, I can still hear his voice in my mind. I can hear him say, “Hey Bub,” one of his favorite nicknames for me.
Everything I know about being a godly husband and father I learned from my Dad. He was my mentor, my teacher, my example and most certainly, my hero.
Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to be one of the sons of Cliff Holland.
